Pinned
by queenly
Summary: Darling, you're an addiction that I just cannot shake. Rivalshipping.


**A/N: all i write is roooomance blah blah blah.**

 **this is a little influenced by 'mutiny below' by ludo.**

Shattered, empty, entirely lost; categorizable as how one is to feel once endearment is mutually proclaimed to no longer exist.

Surprised, elated, entirely lost; categorizable as how one is to feel once they discover the prior target of such endearment standing- stoic and silent -on their front step.

And all Kaiba could say was, "It's freezing."

And all Yuugi could do was step aside to clear the entryway.

Before either has taken proper time to assess just exactly what's happening, they're sitting in Yuugi's kitchen, hands occupied by mugs, skulls occupied with throbbing thought.

Yuugi's chin rests in one palm. He's trying, really he is, not to stare. A moment of weakness; he glances forward, and, _God_ , Kaiba looks like a hot mess. Yuugi won't claim ownership of delight over this, but there's a part of him that's elated to see the darkness beneath blue eyes, his hair's ridiculous swooping at all angles. Perhaps he's lost sleep, Yuugi supposes, though knows he never was so great at it to begin with.

But, tandem, he senses his own frazzled disposition; hardly presentable for company. Yet in his defense, he hadn't been expecting any. Particularly- _especially,_ not this guest.

When he spies those tired cobalts peering at him from over mug's rim, Yuugi rips his vision away, focuses instead through the window. Snow cascades in flurries, and he idly mumbles, "There's supposed to be a blizzard soon."

"I heard," Kaiba murmurs back.

And Yuugi, eternally concerned, says in what could be a chide, "You should've dressed warmer."

Kaiba flicks his eyes down at his attire; usual thin sweater, jeans, boots. Perhaps choosing a sleeveless trenchcoat wasn't the most intellectual of options. Perhaps Yuugi is right. About everything, he muses just to himself.

And for lack of better argument, "So should you."

At this, admittance to his scoff does not bestow shame upon Yuugi. "Forgive me, I didn't think you'd be showing up tonight. Or...ever, really."

Kaiba fixes him with a gaze of unsuppressable dismality. "...I figured I'd stop by."

Yuugi projects no malice, only an enchantment through his words. "And why's that?"

He guides his expression- which he's sure appears a stupid mess of vulnerability -sideways. "You know why."

Between them, between their inextinguishable stares of flame, there's a moment of simple tenderness. Yuugi takes note of the vacancy to Kaiba's coffee mug, and reaches to claim it. Fingers, tiny and warm, brush against those that fit them so nicely. Yuugi flushes, and he swallows, gripping the handle of each cup. Behind him, the sink gains them as its momentary tenants.

His fingers are wrapped around the counter's edge, determinedly not looking in way of his suitor. Until- _until_ , the courage fizzles to the surface, and before he can stop it, he's directly in front of him with a stupidly sappy look on his face and hands that act all too comfortable. Kaiba feels fingertips traveling at his jawline, feels the hot breaths of another at his skin. And then he's moving his own hands- because, really, it's not like this isn't what he'd expected -to touch, feather, caress. All across the body of the one he's needed more than anyone else.

A long stretch of moments sails in utter sweetness and contentment and whatever else, until the wooden chair creaks and Yuugi finds himself on Kaiba's lap- because, really, why would he expect any other scenario to unfold? Their breaths mingle within the same bounds. And suddenly, they're soaring down the forsaken road, kissing and touching in such a way that _screams_ out to any that'll hear; crave and lust, apologetic awaiting.

For the meager seconds they manage to tear apart, Yuugi moves touch all along the familiar ridges to Kaiba's neck, chest, hands. "I'm sorry," he coughs in hush, and it turns every coil rigid inside Kaiba's body.

"We'll work it out."

Yuugi nods against his forehead. Then his lips are pressing across Kaiba's face, over cheeks and mouth, again and again and again. He allots lingering at his forehead, just to make sure Kaiba truly comprehends how important he is to him. Kisses continue to dot his cheeks, shifting to his neck once Yuugi feels need to wrap him into an embrace. It's one brimming with emotional desire, one long, long overdue. Yuugi isn't sure exactly when he started crying, but he can feel the wetness to his cheeks, and can see splashes of moisture blot the shoulder of Kaiba's jacket.

"Tomorrow," he murmurs into his neck's comfortable crook. And Kaiba agrees by unseen nod of head.

Palms meet either side of his face. He's drawn into another kiss, one that seems like a breathtaking form of punctuation.

Again, the wooden chair voices as Kaiba acquaints feet to floor; yet it is solely his set that preform such. Yuugi rests in his hold, where he's so warm and so _right._ Kaiba travels deftly to a door he knows from experience leads to right where they need to exist in this moment.

As long as they've solid plan to talk things out, to wring themselves of affliction-

On sheets that smell so beautifully familiar, Kaiba lay flatly, and Yuugi crawls to be atop him, to be _close_ , to feel their hearts pound in simultaneity.

As long as they've got the idea to banish ill manner, they mutually agree with wandering hands and lips reacquainting, that tomorrow seems wonderfully far off, and they've got plenty of time to fix themselves right now; silent and serene and lost in flushed majesty.

Into his silks of brunette ravel little fingers, trailing and trailing, lower and lower, until they cup the shocking sharpness of his shoulder blades. And he's still planting delicate kisses upon his body as Kaiba tugs him back up to meet his lips, gentle and sweet and blissful and caring, crashing waves of love, love, _love._ Between their laced lips passes a sigh that's finally of content.

Tomorrow does indeed seem so wonderfully far off.


End file.
